


Dancing With Myself

by ATaleOfTwoCaitlins



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Author writes about a show they have only seen their country's version of, Ballroom Dancing, Baseball Player Derek, Brace yourselves there might be a rumba, Dancer!Boyd, Dancer!Erica, Dancer!Jackson, Dancer!Stiles, Dancing, Dancing with the stars - Freeform, Derek Cannot Use His Words, Derek Has Feelings, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Disney Songs, Latin dancing, Multi, This whole thing is basically UST, UST, What am I doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATaleOfTwoCaitlins/pseuds/ATaleOfTwoCaitlins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was going to kill her. </p><p>He was going to take her sequins and ram them down her throat, gauge her eyes out with the heels of her shoes, and strangle her with her sparkly tights. </p><p>He was going to murder Allison Argent. Because no one- NO ONE- makes Derek Hale dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Sequins at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! Just a little something to whet your appetite...
> 
> I've put Hospital For Souls on hiatus because quite frankly I am lost with it. So, I needed to start something else to keep me sane. And, seeing as Strictly Come Dancing has recently started up again, what better than an au where I get to plan out dances and song choices and throw in a little bit of relationship drama for the hell of it. 
> 
> For those of you who don't know, Strictly is the English equivalent of Dancing With The Stars. We basically throw all our washed up celebrities into a room with some professional dancer and shout at them until they can quickstep like nobody's business.
> 
> And thus, after many a season of watching this show, this happened. I hope you enjoy. (This is just the prologue but god dammit I am excited.)
> 
> ~Cat

Derek was going to kill her. 

He was going to take her sequins and ram them down her throat, gauge her eyes out with the heels of her shoes, and strangle her with her sparkly tights. 

He was going to murder Allison Argent. Because no one- NO ONE- makes Derek Hale dance. 

~

“It’s necessary, Der,” she had scolded him down the phone, “If word gets out about the real reason you ‘left’ the team, you and I will both be done for.” He could practically hear her making air quotes with her slender fingers.

“I’m not doing it, Al. I’m not going on some stupid dance show. It’s not going to happen.”

“Well, if that’s your attitude to my proposal, you’re really not going to be happy with what I tell you next.”

Derek paused, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing so loud that Allison probably felt the sheer magnitude of it from her office three states away. 

“You already signed me up, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

~

Derek had been a childhood star on his local little league team, working his way up through the ranks to play at state- and later, national- level in teams across the country. Everyone wanted Derek Hale as their star batter. Or, they thought they did. His skills were unparamounted, but his attitude was less than perky. He was known to be grumpy, and was not as much of a team player as a major league-er should be. Of course, no one ever found out about any of those things before they bought him. Allison would make sure of that. His contracts were always watertight and, when asked for statements, his previous managers always said the same thing. ‘We just couldn’t afford to pay him what someone of his level of ability deserves, and we hope someone else can.’

But, rumour gets around. After his last team got sick of him mouthing off, so many teams had found out about his true form that no one wanted him back. Not even pathetic state teams who couldn’t even dream of all the national titles he held would take him. And so, Derek was forced into retirement at the grand old age of 28. Which, regrettably, resulted in two months of silence and then a colourful phonecall from Allison informing him that he was to be one of this year’s contestants on Dancing With The Stars, in its rebooted state. The show had shut down a few years previous do to low ratings, but the new series promised to be ‘bigger, badder and more glamorous than ever!’  
Needless to say, Derek was NOT looking forward to this. 

~


	2. It Takes Two To Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek was not expecting this much spandex in the first week. Nor was he expecting to bump into a childhood enemy or fall victim to the beauty of one of the other dancers. But, his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am way too excited about this fic already.
> 
> I chose that title because, I mean, I can't NOT make a few dance puns. Also, a lot of the partnerships are based on my different bro-ships, so don't take em too seriously. (Except Jackson and Lydia. I never joke about Jackson and Lydia.)
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies! Comments and kudos are welcomed and encouraged. 
> 
> ~Cat

The first day on set was hell.

What with the weeks of costume fittings and measurements, pre-show interviews and being yelled at by Allison over Skype about smiling more for the press, Derek’s tolerance for the experience was over before it even began.

The first show, however, involved very little actual dancing, so Derek was willing to look a little less murderous than usual for the occasion.

As he sat backstage in his dressing room, he watched other dancers mill around outside through the caged off window. Sequined dresses flew past and hair was flung around in panic as he sat, cool as a cucumber, scaring away the makeup lady until one of the runners came to tell him he was needed on the floor. 

He followed the train of sparkled and botox-ed ex-celebrities through the back halls and out onto the dance floor as the music kicked up, the presenters beaming into a nearby camera.

“Hello and welcome to the new and improved Dancing With The Stars! And boy, do we have a lineup for you this year, huh?”

Derek had to grit his teeth to control his gag reflex.

“Before we can get to the jives and rumbas of this year’s competition, we need to get our wonderful celebrities paired up with their dance partners!”

One by one, contestants strode over to the presenters and gave their pre-prepared spiel, each one more excitable and sickening than the last. Derek wasn’t really paying attention, until one contestant’s partner had a name he seemed to recognise. 

“Lydia, your partner for this season will be… Jackson!”

Oh, Christ.

Jackson Whittemore had played for Derek’s team in college, but due to his lack of commitment, he’d been sacked before the end of the first semester. He’d kicked up a storm over the fact that Derek was allowed to stay, and the two butted heads for the rest of their time at the college afterwards. Derek knew Jackson’s interests had stayed within the physical, but dancing was not what he had expected.

He lowered his head, hoping Jackson wouldn’t see him. He was not prepared for a fistfight on his first show. Especially not with spandex sleeves that tight.

Lucky for Derek, Jackson was too busy ogling his new partner’s assets to bat an eyelid at him, and he silently thanked his lucky stars while the next name was called.

“Kira, you will be dancing with… Stiles!”

Derek swore he saw an eye roll from one of the other dancers out of the corner of his eye as this- thing bundled over to the pretty girl on the presenter’s right. He was a mass of limbs in tight spandex, all akimbo and with reckless abandon that most dancers would veer away at and shout ‘uncoordinated! This man is uncoordinated!

But ‘Stiles’ managed to hold his balance as he lifted Kira over his shoulder and twirled her round, making her giggle before saluting the other dancers and carrying her up the stairs to the ‘contestants crèche’ as Allison had aptly named it. 

All told, Derek was weirdly endeared by the kid. His hair didn’t seem to have been too badly messed with by the prep fairies before the show, and he had a smile that could probably illuminate an entire city. 

Before he could follow that dangerous road any further, his name was called and he plastered on his ‘I’m trying not to punch anyone on television’ smile, sauntering over to the judges and giving a toe-spin for good measure.

“So Derek, we often see sports stars on this show, but never at your level. Why the sudden change?”

He and Allison had run through the answer to this question a thousand times. He had it down to a tee. 

“Well, I’ve always loved trying new things, and what better way to get out of my comfort zone than to come on such a challenging show!” he beamed at the presenter on his left, and she blushed furiously, mussing her hair and turning back to the camera.

“So, the moment of truth. Derek, you will be coached by… Erica!”

Derek turned to the row of dancers long enough to be set upon by a sea of blonde curls and red lips, the girl throwing herself onto his back. He grabbed at her legs out of reflex to keep her form falling, and while pretending to fix her hair she leant into his ear and whispered ‘You touch my thighs again when we’re not in a routine and I will remove your colon’.

Derek liked this one. 

Giving a smile and a wave to the camera as they passed, Derek piggybacked Erica up the stairs and took a seat on one of the sofas near the back, away from the other chattering couples.

“So, now that Big Brother can’t see us and I’m not being groped, hi. I’m Erica.”

“Derek.”

“So. What’s the real reason you’re here?”

“If we’re going to survive past week one, you’re going to have to learn to listen.” Derek smirked, smugly.

“Pfft. Your story is so see-through to us. Believe me, we’ve heard it all before. Now talk. By week ten- presuming you make it that far, and I certainly intend to- you’ll be throwing me around like a rag doll. I have to be able to trust you.”

Derek sighed.

“Fine. I got kicked off my last team for attitude problems, and now no one will take me back and I need to put across a better image of myself so another team will show an interest. Happy?”

“Very.” Erica grinned, averting her eyes to the other contestants as another pair ascended the spiral steps.

“Okay, so how many of the other contestants do you know?”

“None of them. I do know Jackson though.”

“How unfortunate for you.”

“I know.”

“Okay, so Jackson is dancing with Lydia- soap actress. Character got killed off and now she needs work. Over there is Kira Yukimura- she’s the black belt sensei on that reality show that tries to teach people how to do martial arts. Pretty sure she’s just here because she wants to be. That girl could get work just by flashing her belt at people.”

“What about her partner?” Derek asked, immediately regretting the decision when Erica’s stained lips pursed together and curved deviously.

“Ah, Stiles Stilinski. Rising star of the dance world. Very funny, very talented-“

“Hugely annoying?” 

“Not always. He can be a little much, but that face of his certainly makes up for it. And he’s pretty fine under all that glitter, if you catch my drift.” She winked.

“He looks like a noodle.” Derek deadpanned, his expression blank and eyebrows furrowing a fraction.

“Dude. He’s a dancer. He’s thin, but Jesus H. Christ the man is muscly. If you can hold him still long enough to see it, that is. He joined on at the end of last season as a reserve for an injured dancer, and let me tell you,” she said, her voice hushed low and a manicured finger grazing the tip of Derek’s nose, “His Paso Doble? He took his shirt off and I’m pretty sure at least three audience members were hospitalised.”

Derek rolled his eyes and watched as more couples filtered up through the crowd. 

“He was partnered with Kira because her boyfriend is the gym coach for all the dancers, who also happens to be her boyfriend.” Erica continued. “He squared it with the producers beforehand. He gets really protective and didn’t want anyone he didn’t trust getting their hands all over his girl.”

“Does that happen often?”

“What, people feeling Kira up? Not with anyone in their right mind about not getting scissor kicked in the head.”

“No, dancers ending up with their partners.”

“It happens. Sadly, you got the short straw this year, bucko. Got my eye on someone else.” She let her gaze fall to a dark skinned man leaning on the railing, his arm looped around a blonde girl with skin slightly more tanned than Erica’s own, and with delicate pink lips instead of ruby red.

“Malia Tate. Singer.” She said, a hint of malice in her voice. She turned to Derek and gave him a steely look, sternly declaring, “We don’t like her.” 

After the last few coupled had filtered up, there were a few interviews and some of the professionals skittered away to prepare for their group routine. Derek moved to the railing to watch as the dancers assembled together, and the lights went up to show one of the male dancers in the centre of the floor, dressed all in black with an eye mask on his face, his head bowed. 

As the music slowly grew, he began to turn and move, gripping each of the girls as they spun past him, performing intricate moves ad lifts with each of them as the other men moved in, forming into pairs. The man in the middle threw his arms to his sides and pulled off his mask as the music peaked, and Derek’s heart dive-bombed out of his chest and over the barrier.

Stiles. 

This was going to be more interesting than Derek thought.


	3. Smooth(ie) Criminal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring a bit of Stiles backstory, Derek's first training session and the first (but definitely not the last) appearance of Erica's dangerous driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will begin these notes as I have many times over my fic-writing years:
> 
>  
> 
> I'M SORRY. 
> 
> Time got away from me with this one, and I've only recently found a new lease of life with it (my life has taken a sharp turn down the Marvel street- SteveBucky and Spideypool are now prominent factors in my mind) and I simply haven't had the time to sit down and punch out another chapter.
> 
> But, here we are! More hopefully coming soon, so make sure to bookmark so you don't miss when I actually DO upload! 
> 
> Also: Kudos and comments are appreciated. I love talking to you guys, y'all are cuties.
> 
>  
> 
> ~Cat

The casting for the show had gotten worse and worse. Washed up soap stars, ex-athletes, and singers who released one bum album too many and got dropped by their labels, now using their minimal dance skill to gain them popularity again and please their agents.

Stiles usually hated the people he had to work with. 

The dancers? They were fantastic. They were like family to him. Even when the series wasn’t running, they’d get together every now and then to watch movies or go out to clubs and torment partygoers with their talents. 

The contestants however, weren’t so nice. Stiles thanked every deity in every inch of the universe that Scott had managed to bend the rules so he could work with Kira. He knew her pretty well already, so their chemistry would be hard to match. Other than that, most of the time he couldn’t see a single contestant he could bear to be stuck in a studio with for three months. But, as an avid viewer of the show before he was on it, he knew it was always like that.

At least until, in that one series, the producers dropped a steaming lump of stone-faced man meat right into Stiles’ ever-welcoming lap. He hated the contestants on that damn show, until Derek Hale happened.

His first thought upon laying eyes on Derek was that of ‘Damn. Why does he look so grumpy?’

That was then followed by ‘Oh god, I see why. That smile is downright dangerous; you might accidentally cure a horrible disease. Jesus, this guy is hot.’

Then, after listening to him be introduced and watching him be paired up from the upstairs balcony, Stiles’ thoughts fell to his father. ‘Look dad, I’m standing near a major league baseball player. That’s close enough to being one, right?’

Stiles’ dad had always been a huge baseball fan, so much so that they always went to games together when he was a kid. Stiles never had much of an aptitude for the game, and although his father supported his dance career, he knew it wasn’t what he’d wanted his son to be. All the subliminal messages throughout his childhood: new baseball gloves for his birthday instead of pointe shoes, buying him season tickets to his favourite team rather than tickets to see Coppelia like he’d asked for a thousand times over. Yeah, it was a little obvious.

It wasn’t like Stiles and his dad weren’t close, oh no- his dad still came out to watch every show, without fail. Sometimes he even brought Scott’s mother along (the two were blatantly dating, but John always skimmed over the issue whenever Stiles brought it up), which Scott always loved. The guy wasn’t even a dancer, yet he always preened over his mother coming to watch the live shows. It was like he was showing off the buff dancer-bodies he had helped to sculpt with endless gym sessions and super diets.

Maybe this year would be different- maybe the show’s new youthful appearance and almost bearable cast would let Stiles enjoy this season. Or, god forbid, have some fun.

 

Maybe. 

~

Derek awoke on the following Monday morning to a pair of huge, brown eyes staring at him, a mop of blonde hair cascading down over bare shoulders, and the smell of countless fruits invading his nostrils. He wrinkled his nose as he sat up, taking in the sight of Erica in a camisole top and sports leggings, grinning like the Cheshire Cat on acid.

“Morning, sunshine!”   
“Erica? How the hell did you get in? I have a deadbolt.”

Erica reached into her pocket, then, and pulled out a silver key, tossing it into Derek’s lap.

“Your spare key is under the mat, Derek. No points for high security, but I would have screamed you awake had it not been there, so.” She shrugged, lifting a glass from the bedside table and placing it into Derek’s hand as he sat, mouth hanging open a little, simply in awe that this girl he met only days ago had the audacity to just waltz into his apartment at stupid-o’clock in the morning and demand he drink some weird concoction of berries and lord only knows what else.

“Drink up, grumpy. Got a long day of rehearsals ahead. We’re doing the American Smooth this week.”

“Does the smooth part really require the smoothies, or are they an optional extra?” he groaned, sniffing tentatively at the glass and taking a sip. It actually wasn’t half bad, but anything tastes like death to Derek at that time of morning.

“Scott’s orders. He’s the show’s nutritionist- Kira’s boyfriend, the one I told you about- You’ll get to meet him today, I think. He should be at the studio handing out meal and gym plans. Something tells me the gym part won’t cause much of a fuss with you.”

Derek had run out of tangible sentences by this point, and so he sipped slowly at his smoothie as Erica made herself comfortable at the end of the bed, flipping through the channels on the small TV that sat on the dresser. 

After ‘breakfast’ (if blended fruits and sarcasm can really be considered a meal), Erica produced a pair of sweat pants and a lycra training shirt from her bag and instructed Derek to get dressed and meet her in the parking lot by, quote, ‘the Honda with the ding from another Honda on the side’. Needless to say, Derek was apprehensive about Erica’s driving skills.

And, as he would come to discover on the 20 minute white-knuckle thrill ride to the studio, rightly so.

The pair took up their place in their assigned studio, and they had a little time to kill before the cameras showed up to shoot their rehearsal shots. 

“Ok, the first thing we need to talk about is your posture. Being bent over a square in the ground for your whole life has made yours pretty damn tragic. You need to stand straighter, or the judges are going to make Notre Dame jokes and nobody wants that.”

“Are they really that brutal?” Derek asked, his voice small. Erica raised an eyebrow in answer, and took a firm hold of Derek’s shoulders, pulling them up a little and straightening his spine, chucking him under the chin to move his head into position.

“Better,” she remarked, “But you’ve gotta keep it up. There’s a stretch we make a load of the newbies do that really helps- stand against a wall with your feet out a little in front of you, your shoulder blades flat against it and press your stomach in to push back against the wall. At least ten times, for ten seconds each, every day. You’ll be straight as a pole in no time.”

Derek snorted. He frigging snorted.

It dawned on him that he hadn’t formally told Erica yet, but that was a conversation for another day. Until then, he needed to focus on getting his back a little straighter than the rest of him if he stood a chance in hell of making it further into the competition. 

"Alright, arms. Your hold is important- you want to look like you're supporting me, but not like you're clinging on for dear life."

 

During the day, Derek was frequently distracted by other dancers walking past the window or coming in to see Erica. He did, as Erica had promised, get to meet Scott- and he surprisingly didn’t hate him. The guy was a little too happy for his own good, but at least he apologised when he saw the horrified look on Derek’s face as he perused his meal plan.

The highlight of Derek’s day was the end of it- and not because he hadn’t enjoyed himself; He liked Erica, and she was a good teacher. She was actually trying to make the dance fun for him, and it was a nice contrast to his expectations. No, he didn’t like the end of the day because it was the end. He liked it because of the announcement of a group outing that night to a club downtown. Derek tried to get out of it, he really did. Clubs weren’t his scene at all. He fully intended to get into Erica’s car and briber her with food to take him home so he could sneak a Chinese off Scott’s radar and watch Dexter all night. 

That is, until he saw Stiles bounce out of his training room carrying Kira bridal-style and calling over his shoulder for Erica to hurry up. 

The club suddenly sounded like a wonderful idea.


End file.
